


Like a Halo in Reverse

by lielabell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Canon Typical Violence, Character Study, Coda, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lielabell/pseuds/lielabell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long, stressful day that came at the end of a long, stressful week and Jennifer is tired.  Bone tired.  All she wants to do is go home to her apartment, crack open a bottle of wine, and read something light and airy.  Maybe Austen.  Austen is always a good fall back when real life sucks.  </p><p>But Jennifer's not going to get to do that, because there's a man-- she thinks he's a man anyway-- bleeding out on the ground beside her car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Halo in Reverse

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Queenitsy and Nokomis, who both told me this fic didn't actually suck after all and agreed with my characterization of Jennifer Blake. 
> 
> Inspired by this [gif set](http://lielabell.tumblr.com/post/54440758330/you-shouldnt-be-here-everyone-around-me-gets).

It's been a long, stressful day at the end of a long, stressful week and Jennifer is tired. Bone tired. All she wants to do is go home to her apartment, crack open a bottle of wine, and read something light and airy. Maybe Austen. Austen is always a good fall back when real life sucks. 

But Jennifer's not going to get to do that, because there's a man-- she thinks he's a man anyway-- bleeding out on the ground beside her car. 

Now, in a normal situation, Jennifer would be on the phone with 911 so fast she'd get whiplash from it, but this isn't a normal situation-- see the above question about Derek's humanity-- and so she's crouching next to him, trying not to freak out. Or, you know, have another relapse. Because, Jesus, that's not what she needs right now. Not when she's just starting to get her life back on track.

"Oh my god," she says, her voice high and tight. She sucks her lower lip into her mouth, glances around, and then shoves her hands under Derek's shoulders, pulling him up so that his back is resting on her chest. She pushes into a crouch that is going to kill her thighs in about, oh, two minutes flat, and crab walks him over to her side door. 

"This is not normal. There is no way this is normal," she mutters to herself as she lowers him to the ground. She keeps one hand on his chest as she fumbles for the handle behind her. Looking at the car would help, she knows it would, but she just can't take her eyes off of Derek.

"Shit. _Shit_. Please don't die," she begs just as her fingers finally close on the handle. "Fuck, yes." She tugs it up, yanks the door open and goes about the complicated process of dragging what feels like two hundred pounds of pure muscle into the backseat of her practical, soccer mom car. 

"God, he's going to bleed all over your seats, Jennifer," she say, feeling somewhat hysterical as she thinks about how impossible it will be to get the stains out. Her hand comes up to her throat and she lets out a half-sob before viciously yanking the reins of her self-control back into place. "That doesn't matter right now," she says firmly. "Focus on what matters. Get him somewhere safe, tend to his wounds, and then you freak out. Okay?" She nods to herself as she shuts the side door and gets back into the front seat. "You can do this. You’ve totally got this. You’re perfectly okay."

She rolls down the window-- because how else is she going to hide that massive bloody hand print-- starts the car and drives away.

* 

Taking him back to her house wasn’t exactly ideal, but taking him back to his place was sorta out of the question, since she had no idea where his place might be and if whoever did this to him might be there. So that pretty much left taking him to hers. But when she got to her complex, she instantly realized two things. First, it would be impossible to make it pass the nosey old biddy who lived in the downstairs unit catty-corner to hers without being seen, and second, that even if she somehow could do that, there was no way she would be able to lug him up the stairs. 

Which meant that her place was out. 

Jennifer slams her hand into the side of steering wheel, letting out a string of curses that would have earned one of her students a trip to the principal’s office along with a call home. “What am I going to do with you now?” she asks just for the sake of asking.

“Preserve,” Derek answers, his voice weak. “Take me... the preserve.”

Jennifer turns in her seat and gapes at him, an are-you-insane look on her face. Not that it does her any good, having her face like that, seeing as how his eyes are squeezed shut, hands bunched into fists at his side. 

Fine. Words it is. Jennifer can do words. Words are totally her friends. She opens her mouth to say something cultivated and intelligent, something worthy of a professional English teacher with five solid years of experience under her belt. But what comes out is, “Are you insane?” And that doesn't make her want to head-desk at all. Nope. Not a bit. 

Derek grimaces. “Preserve,” he bites out, like just saying the words hurts, and, who knows, maybe it does. God, breathing probably hurts, with wounds like that. 

“Yeah, no. Not happening, buster.” She takes a deep breath, frantically going over her options. Then a lightbulb goes off in her head. “This is what god invented cheap motels for,” she says as she turns her car back on and puts it in reverse. 

*

Jennifer is not a native to Beacon Hills, has only been here since about two weeks before the start of the school year, and so doesn’t exactly know what the area has to offer as far as cheap motels go. Thankfully, she has a smartphone and the ability to put that baby to work for her.

“Hell yeah, who's the man,” she crows as she pulls into the admittedly disreputable lot. But, whatever, that just means her bloody handprint window won’t stand out as much “I am. I’m the man.” 

She hears a huff of what could be laughter, if laughter came with a side of pain, and she narrows her eyes, glaring at Derek in her rear view mirror. “Just because I don’t have a penis doesn’t mean I’m not the man,” she tells him in her best teacher voice. 

He makes that horrible pained laughter sound again, wincing a bit as he does and Jennifer instantly wants to kick herself, because everyone knows laughing uses a bunch of stomach muscles and right now she’s pretty sure she can see the insides of all of his. 

“Shut up already,” she tells him, “you're going to do yourself an injury.” He rouses himself enough to crack an eye open at that, his eyebrows arcing up in disbelief and Jennifer rolls her eyes in response. “Do yourself _more_ of an injury, whatever. God.” 

He grunts at her, no words, just sound, but she’s taking that as agreement. “Right,” she says, taking a steadying breath. “Now I just need to walk right in there and ask for a room for the night and not be any more shady or suspicious than the next lady. No bloody man in my car, no siree! I don’t know what you are talking about. Right.”

"Don’t die while I’m gone," she orders him right before she opens her door. Jennifer steps outside and blatantly ignores Derek’s pain filled laughter. 

*

“I really don’t want to do this,” Jennifer tells the expanse of tanned, toned male skin in front of her. 

Derek makes an unhappy sound, shifts a little, and Jennifer has to curtail the impulse to pinch his side. “Stay still,” she hisses, bringing the damp washcloth up to rub at the back of his neck. It comes away a brownish rust color that could be dirt but is probably dried blood. Her stomach clenches and she’s glad she hasn’t had anything to eat in a good five hours. 

She works quickly on the uninjured bits, washing away grit and grime, leaving smooth, clean skin in her wake. It doesn’t take too long before she’s run out of damage free areas, and then she finds herself gnawing her lips as she gingerly dabs at the deep gouges marring his lower back. 

Derek sucks in breath at her hesitant touch, making a terrible sort of wounded animal sound and she can’t help but wince. "I'm so sorry, Derek.” 

"Don't apologize," he grits out, body going rigid under her hand. 

"I--" she starts, but he cuts her off with a shake of the head. 

"This isn't your fault." His words sound like they are being forced out of him through clenched teeth. 

Jennifer snorts. "Yeah, I get that, believe me, I get that. You are not my responsibility, big guy. But that doesn't mean I don't still feel like shit if I hurt you more while I'm supposed to be helping you." She leans back, drops the washcloth into the sink and then wrings it out. "Seriously," she mutters under her breath when Derek gives her a disagreeing look over his shoulder.

The moonlight cuts across his face in a way that ought to be illegal, deepening the shadows along his cheek bones until he looks like something unreal, something dark and haunted, like a fantasy good girls aren't supposed to have. Jennifer lowers her eyes, biting at the inside of her cheek because come on. The man is injured. Seriously injured. She shakes her head at herself as she brings the cloth back up to his skin. She runs it over his lower back and down across his hips until his skin is finally clean.

She drains the water from the sink, scrubs the blood and dirt out of the washcloth as best she can, then fills it up again. Washcloth in hand, she gently prods his uninjured side. "Let me do your front now, will you?” 

Derek complies, or at least he seems to anyway, twisting his top half towards her and catching her hand in his own. "I'm good," he says, his voice low as he works the washcloth out of her suddenly limp grip. 

Jennifer licks her lips. "Derek," she protests, because his front is a bloody mess. Hell, his _face_ is a bloody mess. And that ought to be a sign right there to back away slowly, because a face with dried blood on it should not look so good. He lets the washcloth fall to the floor, his eyes still staring relentlessly into hers and Jennifer can't help the flair of lust that spikes through her. "Derek," she says again, but he's already moving his head forward, capturing her lips with his own. 

The kiss starts out tender, almost hesitant, but doesn't stay that way long. His mouth is hot against hers, eager with a hint of desperation that make her pulse rush. Her fingers curl instinctively around the strong column of Derek’s neck as he sucks at her lips, nibbles on them till she lets out a gasp, then slides his tongue in like he knows what she wants, knows what she needs. 

And, _god_ , he does. 

He turns further towards her until the angle is just right, his big hand coming up to tangle in her hair as he deepens the kiss. Heat pools low in Jennifer’s abdomen and she moans, pressing her chest firmly into his back. Her free hand slides across his shoulder, down his chest aiming for his nipple, but they find a tacky spot first and reality slams into Jennifer like a bucket of ice water tossed in her face.

“Shit.” She jerks back with a hiss. “Damn it. Shit. Fuck. _Derek._ ” 

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at her with eyes that seem too sad to be real. 

“I--” she swallows. Her skin is tingling from where his stubble rubbed against it, her limbs still heavy with want, but she can’t. She _can’t_. No matter how much she may want to. Not when he’s still covered in his own blood. 

Jennifer presses her forehead against the firm skin of his shoulder. “I can’t,” she chokes out.

Derek’s whole body seems to jerk and he silently moves away from her touch. He takes a step away from her, eyes averted, clearly taking her words in a way she didn't intend, and Jennifer feels a lump of unhappiness form in her gut. 

“No,” she tells him, “no, it’s not, I mean, you’re still,” she worries her lip between her teeth, rubbing the tacky fingers of her right hand together. “You’re hurt,” she finishes lamely. It’s not much of an explanation, but it’s the best she can do. 

Derek slowly turns towards her, hands balled into fists, jaw tight. “I’ve been hurt worse,” he says, his voice rough. “I’ve been hurt so much worse than this.”

She can’t help the unhappy sound that slips out at his matter of fact tone and his emotionless stare. “That’s,” she presses the balls of her palms against her eyes, shakes her head. “That doesn’t make this okay,” she says finally, gesturing quickly between them. His head bows, his shoulders hunch, and he nods to the floor. Damn it, he’s still not getting it. 

“I want you,” Jennifer admits, and that gets his eyes back on her in an instant, though his expression is wary. She gives him a hopeful smile and continues. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t. I’ve thought about you, since that night. Especially after you came to check on me. I thought about seeing you in town, in a coffee shop maybe, and asking if I could buy you drink. Or maybe at Ralph’s in the cereal aisle, a box of Corn Flakes in your hand. You look like a Corn Flakes guy to me. I thought about it a lot, running into you, striking up a conversation, seeing where things could go. But this?” she lifts a shoulder. “This is not how I pictured our first date going. And,” she takes a deep breath for courage, “and, well, to be honest, I don’t want to have to think about tonight every time I think about the origins of us. If there is an us, that is.”

Derek glances down and to the side before saying, “I’d like that,” almost too soft for her to hear. 

“Huh?” Jennifer replies, because there’s not a moment she can’t ruin. 

Derek’s lips sort of curl up on one side, though he still won’t meet her eyes. “I’d like it if there was an us,” he clarifies. 

*

It's been a long, long day that came at the end of one of the longest weeks of Jennifer's life. She's bone tired, laying under an itchy blanket on a poorly sprung mattress in the cheapest motel Beacon Hills has to offer, and snuggled up to a man who most likely isn’t human. Her eyes feel like they are burning, she hasn’t prepared for class tomorrow, and there's a layer of grime under her fingernails that is simply not acceptable in the slightest. Her thighs ache from the abuse she put them through and her mind can’t stop reminding her that there’s a giant bloody handprint on her driver’s side window. 

Jennifer ought to be freaking out right now, her compulsive perfectionist side kicking into overdrive. But she’s not. Because she’s got two strong arms wrapped around her, a solid line of male pressed along her back, and the possibility of an us to keep her warm. And, personally, she thinks that's better than anything Austen could have written.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to lie and say I jumped right on the Derek/Jennifer bandwagon. I didn't. I actually was deeply upset by the rushed feel to their relationship and how hard the show was pushing them. I'm still pretty upset about that, to be honest. Frankly, I really don't like what I think is going to happen in next week's ep either. 
> 
> This fic was my way of trying to make what seems likely to happen in canon work for me. I'm sure it will get jossed to hell and back on Monday, and I'll probably be filled with rage again about the way Jennifer and Derek's relationship plays out, but right now I'm at peace with it. And, if I *do* get all rage-y next week, I'll just read this again and try to remember that canon exists so that fandom can fix it.
> 
> I named this fic after Halo, one of my favorite Depeche Mode songs, because I feel like it fits the tone of Derek and Jennifer's budding relationship. Lyrics below.
> 
> You wear guilt  
> Like shackles on your feet  
> Like a halo in reverse  
> I can feel  
> The discomfort in your seat  
> And in your head it's worse
> 
> There's a pain  
> A famine in your heart  
> An aching to be free  
> Can't you see  
> All love's luxuries  
> Are here for you and me
> 
> And when our worlds  
> They fall apart  
> When the walls come tumbling in  
> Though we may deserve it  
> It will be worth it
> 
> Bring your chains  
> Your lips of tragedy  
> And fall into my arms
> 
> And when our worlds  
> They fall apart  
> When the walls come tumbling in  
> Though we may deserve it  
> It will be worth it


End file.
